


Lego House

by iridescentemrys



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, hints of Larry a tiny bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 07:11:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3841795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iridescentemrys/pseuds/iridescentemrys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Red and Black performance.</p>
<p>Harry just wants to wallow in his misery, but no one really lets him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lego House

**Author's Note:**

> So, this has been sitting around for a while and I reread it today and figured maybe its good enough to post. Title is a song by Ed Sheeran, I was listening to it while I wrote it and I think the feel of it helped me write this. Shamelessly cheesy, I'm not sorry.

_“He is the baby of the group but people seem to forget that because of the way that he is and that he is so charming. So it is a little bit upsetting sometimes if you see him with the weight of the world on his shoulders. It does annoy us a bit. He’s a young kid and people are just giving him grief for no reason." - Zayn_

 

The first time the other One Direction boys were really given a front row seat to the harsh light the public cast their youngest member in was in late 2011, after the fateful and rather disastrous Red Or Black performance.

 

Before they even reached the venue, Harry was on edge, both figuratively and literally. He jittered and bit his nails on the edge of his seat, snapping at anyone who tried to speak to or comfort him, even Louis. After perhaps the third increasingly rude remark ( _“If anyone has anything to worry about, it’s you, Louis. Just leave me alone.”_ ), they figured perhaps it would be best to let the lad alone.

 

Harry’s singing wasn’t up to notch from the start of the song. He couldn’t steady his voice and nearly every inch of him shook like a leaf in October. He cut out almost completely during his second solo and ran out of air in the middle of his third. But they were being filmed, they were being watched, and there was nothing to be done.

 

Harry was, somehow, even less responsive afterwards than he had been before. He went straight to the car nearly an hour before the others followed, and just sat in the corner, scrolling through his phone with a dark look in his eyes. He got a few phone calls during the ride, they all did, but the only one he took was from his mum. It was short and the only words that came out of Harry’s mouth for the duration were, “Yes,” “No,” “Alright,” and, “Love you, too.”

 

Once they arrived back at the hotel, Harry disappeared into his and Louis’ room. The door shut directly in Louis’ face and he hesitated for a long moment, hand hovering over the doorknob and fingers spasming slightly, lips pressed and brows furrowed.

“Mate, I think he...I think he just wants to be alone.”

 

Liam stood behind him, offering a vague reassuring smile that turned out more like a grimace.

 

“...yeah. Yeah, you’re probably right. It’s just...I mean, it’s Harry. When has he ever wanted to be alone?”

 

“I’m sure he’ll come find us on his own time. Just let him be for a little while, let him sort himself out.”

 

“Yeah, Lou,” Niall’s thick accent sounded from the doorway across the hall that the other three boys were sharing, “He’s been off all day. Just needs to get himself together, I’m sure.”

 

Reluctantly, Louis stepped away from #112, giving the door one last longing look, and dutifully allowed Liam to lead him into the room across the hall.

 

A game of FIFA began, and pretty soon, a ‘little while’ had morphed into hours, and Harry sat alone on his bed in his and Louis room, curled up on top of comforter fully clothed.

 

He wasn’t sure what came over him that day. He’d never felt nerves like that for any performance on the X-Factor, he’d never felt nerves like that in his life. A tight ball of ice cold dread had formed in his stomach from the moment he went to bed the night before, and it had grown and frozen solid by the time the performance was starting. It rose up into his throat and drowned out his voice with shaky breaths and wavering vowels, and now _the entire world saw him, and they knew how awful he was, how pathetic, how worthless, and the band was never going to get any farther and he’d ruined everything for the others and it was all his fault._

 

Later, he’d tell a camera that he’d been looking for confirmation that he’d been awful, and that was largely true. His self-criticism was a fire waiting to be fueled, and Twitter gave him the perfect medium.

 

What he wouldn’t tell the camera was that this had been a regular thing for a while, since he saw the first hate message after his very first performance on the X-Factor with the band, just one seemingly harmless little sentence nearly smothered by heaps of approval that was all but meaningless to him.

 

_@Harry_Styles is quite shit, isn’t he?_

 

On this night, it seemed to be the other way around. As he scrolled through his mentions he saw perhaps one positive tweet for every five negative ones, and a sick being inside his brain was smirking at him, telling him, _this is how it’s meant to be, this is the truth, this is how you’ll always be seen._

 

Louis fumbled around with his key in the door for a good thirty seconds before it opened in front of him. Harry gazed at him for a moment, hollow eyed, before stepping back to allow Louis inside.

 

“Uh, hey, sorry, did I wake you?”

 

“No,” was all Harry said.

 

“Are you...feeling any better?” Louis tossed himself onto his bed, a generally carefree gesture, but his words were tentative and gentle, like he was approaching a wounded animal.

 

“What do you mean?” Harry gave him a blank look.

 

“No, then,” Louis muttered. “What’ve you been up to?”

 

Harry shrugged. “Nothing, really.”

 

“Mm-hmm.” Louis flung his suitcase open blindly in the dark, and began groping around for his toiletries to no avail. “Okay, I need a light on.” He smacked the wall in the general area of the switch until he found it, and he heard Harry hiss slightly behind him at the sudden brightness. Toothbrush and toothpaste in hand, he turned around to see Harry sitting on the edge of his rumpled bed, curls a tangled mess, and eyes red-rimmed.

 

He looked frankly terrible.

 

“Oh, Harry...”

 

The boy in question glared at him. Louis disregarded this, sitting next to him. When Harry flinched, Louis moved a few feet away, hands clenched at his sides to keep from reaching out.

 

“Harry, what’s wrong? Have you been crying?”

 

He kept his eyes fixed on the ground.

 

“Harry, please, I just want to help.”

 

He shook his head.

 

“Please, Harry...” Louis scooted slightly closer, reaching out before drawing his hand back in.

 

“I...” Harry sniffled pathetically. “I just did such shit at that. I was such shit. Don’t know why...why Simon even let me in with you lot. Can’t sing for shit. Can’t do anything fuckin’ right.”

 

“Haz, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth. And that’s saying something, honestly.” Harry didn’t crack a smile. “Harry, where did you even get that idea?”

 

“‘S what everyone’s saying, Lou.” His voice cracked. “Everyone who saw that...monstrosity.”

 

Louis’ mouth hardened into a thin line. “Harry,” he started, voice firm, “Let me see your phone.”

 

The offending object was clenched in Harry’s right hand, as it had been, Louis now realized, since he walked off stage.

 

“What? No, I—It’s my phone!”

 

“ _Harry_.” Louis gripped Harry’s hand around the phone, staring him down. After a long, charged moment, Harry’s grip slackened and Louis pulled the phone into his own hand.

 

The moment he unlocked it, he was greeted with a search on Twitter for ‘harry styles shit’. Louis was depressingly unsurprised.

 

_@Harry_Styles can’t even sing! Don’t understand why he’s in the band._

 

_Who saw the #RedOrBlack performance?? @Harry_Styles made my ears bleed._

 

_@Harry_Styles doesn’t deserve to be in one direction_

 

_@Harry_Styles literally just die_

Louis looked back up at Harry, eyes wide and pained. “ _Why_ ,” he strangled out, trying not to raise his voice, “Why the ever-loving _fuck_ would you sit here and—and do that to yourself?”

 

Harry’s eyes stayed on the ground.

 

“No, please, answer! I’m legitimately asking, I really would like to understand the thought process behind this. Do you _enjoy_ it?”

 

Harry turned away, sniffling again, shaking slightly. Louis glanced at the ceiling, wondering what sort of god would have made him such an abysmal twat.

 

“Harry, no, Christ, don’t—oh, no—don’t—please, don’t cry. I didn’t mean to—I just don’t understand, Harry. Please, oh god, _please_ , stop crying.” His hand hovered awkwardly over Harry’s shoulder. “Are you—are you okay if I touch you? Are you alright with that?”

 

Harry shook his head, still not facing Louis. “‘S’not your fault, Lou,” his muffled voice carried over, “I don’t mean to—to be like this, all the time, you know. I j—I just don’t know what else—I need to see it sometimes, I h-have to know. Please don’t—I just would like to be alone. Right now.”

 

“Harry, I’m so sorry, you know I only want to do what’s best for you, right? Only want what’s best. I just—I don’t feel very good about leaving you alone right...right now.” _Or ever, really_ , but Louis thought it best not to say that out loud. “I don’t have to stay, do you want one of the other boys?”

 

“N-no. Want you.”

 

For several long minutes, silence fell, broken only by Harry’s soft snuffles and the occasional movement on the bed. Louis’ arm was still held awkwardly, not quite touching Harry, but not moving away, and it was growing tiring.

 

Just when Louis decided perhaps it was time to lower his arm and preserve his energy, Harry turned around and fell into Louis, pressing his face into the crook of Louis’ neck and looping his arms around his neck. Louis responded without missing a beat, pulling Harry nearly into his lap and backing them both up against the headboard.

 

Louis turned towards him, pressing his face into Harry’s hair and murmuring into it, while Harry curled up on himself, making himself small and fitting himself into Louis’ protective hold as if this was a bi-weekly happenstance.

 

It was times like this that Louis was reminded of Harry’s youth, of his fragility and innocence. He didn’t exude the qualities the way Niall did, for instance. He hid it well, behind layers of charm and bad jokes, but Harry was the baby of the group, and that would always mean something to them.

 

Louis rounded up the rest of the boys painfully early the next morning, as Harry woke fairly early and Louis didn’t want him to know about this. If Harry knew the rest of the band was meeting to talk about him, he’d be embarrassed and probably take it the entirely wrong way. As Louis saw it, Harry didn’t have to know about this.

 

Zayn stumbled out of the bathroom, eyes shut even as he walked. “This better be good, Lou, the sun’s not even up.” The other three glanced out the window to see the sun high in the sky, but Zayn sees what Zayn wants to see.

 

“Lads, it’s about Harry.”

 

Zayn opened his eyes. Partly. This was really about all Louis expected from him at this time of morning. He was satisfied.

 

“He’s really gutted about how the song last night went. He went all ‘round on Twitter and all those sites, reading hate messages. He—”

 

“ _What?_ ” Liam cut him off loudly. Suddenly conscious of the thing hotel walls, Liam grimaced uncomfortably and lowered his voice. “ _Why_ would he do that?”

 

“Don’t ask me, mate, he doesn’t make sense. ‘Pparently he’s been doing it for a while. I just wanted to ask you lot if you could keep an extra eye on him. If you see him on his phone too long, check on what he’s doing. Don’t let him brood like he does,” Louis advised.

 

“‘Course we can, Lou,” Niall replied softly. “We’ve always got a bit of an eye on him anyway.”

 

“Is he up now?” Zayn asked.

 

“Yeah,” Liam echoed. “How is he? Can we see him?”

 

“He’s alright. Cried himself out last night. He wasn’t awake last I saw him.” Louis glanced at the door. “I need to go back. I’d rather he didn’t wake up alone.”

 

He started towards the door, but didn’t make it two steps before he realized the boys were following him. “What are you—?”

 

“We’re coming with you,” Niall cut him off, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

 

And that, unfortunately, is how the internet became flooded with pictures of 4/5 of One Direction ambling across the hallway in their dressing gowns.

 

Harry was asleep on the bed when they walked in, hair obscuring much of his face, but eyes still clearly puffy and irritated looking, visible even with closed lids.

 

Louis slid onto the bed beside him, and Harry reached out for him before Louis even touched him. “Lou...,” he murmured, voice rough from sleep, “You were gone...”

 

“I know, I’m sorry, it was just for a minute,” Louis whispered, running his fingers through Harry’s hair soothingly, rubbing circles on his back. “I’m back now, I won’t leave again,” he promised.

 

Niall and Zayn took a seat on the bed, reaching out to Harry, gentle touches lulling him into deeper sleep. Meanwhile, Liam grabbed Harry’s phone, wanting to see the damage for himself. He was shocked by what he saw, rude remarks, death threats and everything in between. He cancelled the search and closed the app, deliberating over whether deleting it would have any effect in the long run. Deciding that no, it wouldn’t, he replaced the phone on the bedside table and took a place on the bed.

 

Harry now was sandwiched between Niall and Louis, his back pressed agains Niall’s chest and his face hidden in Louis’ neck. Zayn gripped one of his hands over Louis’ side, and Liam pressed against Niall’s back, reaching a long arm over to engulf both Niall and Harry.

 

The youngest member didn’t properly wake for another 15 minutes, and when he did, he felt no desire to move. He hadn’t noticed before, but a bone deep cold seemed to have settled over him lately, and for the first time in several weeks, he felt warm.

 


End file.
